Falls

Of all the cruelty she’s witnessed and borne, it us time that threatens to break her.

Whether she is dreaming or wandering, the alabaster Warlander follows the murmurings of a voice she can scarcely remember. Rough and bitter and ragged with emotion, the voice of a tortured creature left angry at the world. Beyond that, there is little else to lead her, little that she can see save endless blue and a distant shadow that might be land. Though Aria knows that she is swimming, it is hard not to imagine that she is suspended in nothingness. That she is nothing more than a ghost drifting through some endless oblivion, chasing a peace that doesn’t exist. There are dreams and there is reality, the grey mare can remember the other woman saying, each syllable a snarl. You filled his head with dreams, and doomed us all to suffer for it.

She might not understand them, but these words still punch her as hard as any physical blow. She only wanted what was best for Oberyn, even at the cost of her own fragile joy. And now— now she isn’t just lonely, but alone. Alone and scared and uncertain of what the future might hold for her. But in a way...in a way, Aria supposes that the darkness she faces now is better than the one that had become familiar. There, she is an unwelcome reminder of the past, a pariah who has been promised a solitary and childless existence. But here in the world beyond, she might find something— might find contentment, if not true happiness. And she tells herself that that will be enough. That anything will be enough.

The sun chases wisps of cloud across the sky, shifting from her back to warm one shoulder. Between that and the growing shadow ahead, the slender mare suspects that she must be nearing land. But when her hooves inevitably scrape the rough texture of stone, Ariah is still surprised, still brought to her knees by the overwhelming weight of her gratitude. For a time she curls damp and disheveled amidst the rocks, sobbing for a reason that even she cannot explain. Not grief; there is nothing behind her to mourn. Not joy, though her heart is lighter than it has been since she’d left the tangle of the dark stallion’s embrace. No, it is relief that floods her hollow chest, relief that stills her quivering skin and inevitably gives her the strength to rise again.

If navigating the vast emptiness of the sea half-blind was a hardship, then taking her first steps in an unfamiliar land is a trial. No sooner has the white woman begun than she stumbles, catching herself with a quick jerky step before she can tumble back to the ground. Pitching her ears forward, Ariah moves more carefully, orienting her inland journey by the fading murmur of the sea and the vague green shapes of tree and grass. After a time, the green closes in even overhead, and the cathedral stillness of a forest descends. Weaving her way cautiously between the shadowy tree-trunks, she lifts her legs high to step over the grasping fingers of a root— and then tumbles headlong down the slope just beyond, pale body crashing into rock with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.

Stunned, shaking, Ariah can only lay in the shadow of the mountain and gasp desperately for air.